Boom.
Down.
I get out of the car. Gun in hand. Walking toward the entrance.
Two more guards come running.
Boom. Boom.
Bodies hit the ground.
I don’t break stride.
Inside, I see more men. A group of them. Talking, laughing.
As soon as they see me, their eyes widen.
One reaches for his weapon, but I’m faster.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Four shots. Four dead bodies.
I keep walking. Down a hallway, past offices, storage rooms.
Anyone I see. Anyone wearing Sokolov colors. Is fucking dead.
I’m a fucking killing machine.
No hesitation. No mercy.
They chose this. They came after us. Threatened my fucking wife.
Now they die.
When I reach the main office, I kick the door open.
Sokolov’s sitting behind his desk. He’s a cocky young bastard with slicked-back hair and flashy clothes.
His eyes meet mine and his mouth falls open. When he reaches for a gun, I shoot his hand. He screams, the gun clattering to the floor. I shoot his knee. He falls to the ground, bleeding and wailing like a fucking baby.
I walk over, stand above him.
“You came after me,” I say between gritted teeth. “When I was with my fucking wife.”
He’s gasping, fucking begging for his life, hands up, head bowing cowardly.
“You put her in fucking danger.”
I shoot his other knee. He screams again.
“Fucking scared her.”
I crouch down and press the gun to his forehead.
“Tell the devil Zakhar fucking Maksimov sent you.”
Boom.
